Sons of Elrond
by Silabrithil
Summary: Rich, handsome, intelligent, gifted, privileged, and hopelessly sad and lonely. Little did either know how soon that was soon to change.
1. Prelude

**Sons of Elrond**

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_You know I don't own the characters that are directly out of LOTR, but I do own the ones you don't know. **(Mwa ha ha ha, they are all MINE!)**_

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Elrohir sighed – Elladan was late, again, for watch duty.

His truant twin was most likely warming his sheets with some chamber maid, as usual.

If their mother had known what kind of psychological damage her leaving had done to her eldest son would she have chosen pain and despair in Middle Earth over the peace and healing they were told she had found in the Undying lands?

Elrohir was unsure – as children of a noble household, they had been raised by nannies, tutors and servants with limited contact with their own parents – they had hardly known their mother, yet her torment still burned their blood and they hunted and killed any and all of the terrible creatures that had caused Celebrain's pain.

Elladan had been more connected to their mother than had his twin, and the loss of her haunted him – he vainly attempted to fill the gap left in his heart by her departure with elleths, chamber maids and any pretty face that would open her chamber doors to him or enter into his.

Elrohir shook his dark head sadly, but was still mad at his fraternal twin.

The two young elves, though to the untrained eye, appeared to be identical, were quite different from one another once you got to know them; Elladan, the elder, was very possessive of material goods and kept only loose relationships with others. He was tall and deadly with both sword and bow, and his dark green eyes shone with a creepy light that seemed to pierce the pour soul he let loose his gaze unto.

The elder Elrondion spoke loud and often, enjoying the sound of his own voice, while his younger brother was quieter and more soft-spoken, he listened more and only occasionally made a comment or pointed something out that someone had missed.

Elrohir, though he didn't know it, resembled his father in behavior, where Elladan took Elrond's stately appearance.

Elrohir's face was fairer than his twin's and his eyes were a grey, misty blue with such depth and animation that made his father often think of his wife whenever he looked into his son's puppy-like eyes.

Both elves were deadly and efficient with their weapons, were expert trackers, and skilled healers; a trait many found amusing considering how the most of their talent appeared to be in their amazing warrior skills.

But this was all irrelevant to Elrohir – he wanted his brother to, for once, make it on time for their watch and not wander in half-way though lacing up his leggings with that maddeningly wide grin on his face that covered his hollow, depressed eyes.

A nearly undetectable sound caused his mind to shoot back to the present – the soft sound of a bare foot touching down and dragging lightly to the side.

"Elladan, you're late again for the five thousand, three hundred and fifty second time! Will you ever come on time," Elrohir admonished his twin without even turning to confirm that that indeed was who was behind him, "or do you plan on crawling in here two hours in every night?"

Elladan shrugged, not trying to be silent anymore, and dropped his boots to the ground beside his brother and proceeded in wedging them onto his feet.

"Really, it's not like it's a problem, 'Ro, nothing ever happens around here anyways. I only wonder why, in Eru's name, we were both posted here in this monotonous little spit of civilization? We are both the son's of Elrond," the incredibly bored looking elf complained, "and the descendants of Elwing and Earnur, of Dior and of Beren and Luthien. We carry the blood of Turor and Idril, why are we simple guardsmen in the middle of no-where instead of commanding our father's battlements and troops?"

Elrohir snorted, "Do your constant attempts at getting in trouble and sleeping with all the maidens in Imladris help? We were sent here, my dear brother, because there's nothing here for you to destroy and they assume that I can control you, hence why we are here together in the middle of no-where."

Elladan shrugged again and leaned heavily against the stone wall.

"Too bad Arwen isn't here – she'd liven the place up."

Elrohir let out a chuckle; while both loved their younger sister like nothing else in the world, Elladan found her to be far too dry and melodramatic. He tried to teach her to fight and curse like a soldier, to the abhoration of her old nurse Ellen when she saw the scratches and bruises the young elf lady had received in a sparring match and the less-than flowery language her young mistress had picked up.

Elrohir shook his head again and sighed, maybe that was another reason they had been sent away. Ellen most likely had complained to their father that they were a negative influence upon their younger sister and they should be removed from her presence.

A smile drifted across his quiet face – Arwen had left for Lothlorien not long after their departure.

And in Lothlorien... Elrohir immediately changed subject's mid-thought.

Long ago when he and his mother had gone to the Golden Wood to visit his grandparents Elrohir had met a beautiful young elleth, a daughter of a kinsman of Celeborn.

They had kept in correspondence for many long years and countless fallings of snow until, one day without warning, her father decided to leave Middle Earth and take his household with him.

She left the shores of Arda without so much as a goodbye to Elrohir, and the young elf's heart had never mended itself.

Sad. That is the only way to describe the two sons of Elrond.

Rich, handsome, intelligent, gifted, privileged, and hopelessly sad and lonely.

Little did either know how soon that was soon to change.

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Thanks for all the reviews – I checked my e-mail and POW! I've never had such a reaction to any of my stories. This is highly cool, so thanks everyone who reviewed:

Dragon Confused, Ellfine, Grumpy, and Baralach.


	2. Chapter One: Scouts

**Chapter One: Scouts**

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The characters and places you know don't belong to me, but my characters and plot does. Back off – get your own sandwich.... I mean, story line!

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Chelmo twisted his head to the side and stood stark still. 

Had he just heard footsteps in the distance?

Slowly he raised his head and sniffed the air... dry leaves underfoot rotting into the forest floor, lembas in his back pack, and the faint but ever-so present stench of orc.

With lightning speed the lone elf drew an arrow from his quiver and notched the string, aiming at the opening into a clearing where the sounds and smells were coming from.

"Manveru?_ Y ha le mi i lant_," he whispered lightly, so that only another elf could hear.

There was no answer.

He called out again, this time a little bit louder.

"Manveru?"

Still no answer.

He opened his mouth to speak once more when he felt the bite of cold steel dig into the small of his back where his armour didn't cover his spine. He froze.

"You are too noisy, Chelmo. I nearly mistook you for an orc."

The blade withdrew and Chelmo sighed, turning to face his mentor, Manveru.

"That wasn't fair – what was that stench from? I thought it was orc, I was sure it was orc," he complained.

Manveru snorted, "it came from an orc, _mellen nin_."

"Here?"

The older Noldor elf nodded and pointed his blade towards the clearing; Chelmo noted that the blade was still wet with orc's blood.

"There were only two, scouts maybe? I'm not sure, but we'd better report back to the base and get a party ready just in case."

Chelmo lowered his still drawn bow and walked slowly into the clearing where, sure enough, two newly dead orcs lay in pools of their own black blood.

Crouching low he inspected the bodies, scrunching up his nose at the stench.

"Their cloths are rags and have only basic and ancient looking equipment. Maybe scouts, but maybe not. They could be wanderers, or deserters; they defiantly aren't from Mordor, too puny. Mountain filth," Chelmo reasoned, looking at their pitiful, crumpled corpses.

"They look like they couldn't have picked too much of a fight, they're half starved."

Manveru nodded, "most likely a small raiding band or deserters from a larger one."

An incredibly distant howl made both elves look up quickly to the east.

"Wolves! About a half league away," Manveru looked grim. "Chelmo, go now to the base and alert the commanders that we are soon to be attacked."

Chelmo looked in confusion at his mentor, "are you not coming?"

"You are faster, now get going!"

Chelmo didn't wait for another direct order, he jumped up and sprinted faster than one could blink and he was out of sight of Manveru.

Another howl caused a shiver to run down the elf's spine.

Sheathing his blade he grabbed the foul creatures' cold limbs and dragged their carcasses into the centre of the clearing then after checking his supply of arrows, Manveru quickly shimmied up a tall, sturdy tree near him and prepared his bow.

Chelmo didn't stop running at break neck speed until he reached the grey stone walls and iron gate of the outpost.

"_Alag! Un glamhoth teli!"_

A guardsman poked his head out of the high tower, "_man?"_

"Orcs! To the west at the far clearing, they have wolves! Manveru killed two scouts in the clearing."

Another head poked out, this one an elf's, "where is Manveru?"

Chelmo raised his hands to shoulder height and spread them out in defeat, "he sent me to fetch a party, he is either following, though I doubt it for I checked and I didn't see nor here him following after."

The elf in the tower frowned, "the old campaigner must have stayed behind to stall them... I'll raise the alarm," he turned to the human beside him, "go tell the commanders, they will be in the fire hall."

Both heads disappeared and Chelmo had to shout loudly before someone thought to let him in through the gates.

* * *

Veryo was playing a game of dice with the strange young human that the commanders called 'Ereg', though what his given name was, Veryo did not know.

Why the sons of Elrond held this particular human so closely to their hearts and under their wings, no one really knew. He was one of the few and fallen Numenorean, and seemed to hold rank with the other rangers of the wilds.

It was just as the elf was about to ask the human why he was called Ereg, he heard the faint sound of a runner and laboured breathing.

"_Alag! Un glamhoth teli_," an exhausted sounding voice shouted from below.

Ereg jumped up and stuck his head out the window, "_man?"_

Veryo moved to pull the young mortal back in the window before he was killed when the elf below shouted, "Orcs! To the west at the far clearing, they have wolves! Manveru killed two scouts in the clearing."

Veryo felt his heart jump out of his body and flop around on the floor.

"Manveru!" He stuck his head out the window, "where is Manveru?"

The young elf, panting from exertion, shrugged and said he had stayed behind.

This couldn't be good, thought Veryo; Manveru would never just act so quickly on a whim. Thinking quickly, Veryo sent Ereg to alert the sons of Elrond, and then dashed off to the courtyard where the silver alarm bell hung.

Pulling hard on the silken rope, he rang the alarm, noting in his mind that the young apprentice of Manveru was still locked outside the gate.

He let the youngster in then, once he was sure that Chelmo wasn't about to fall off his feet, he ran back to the tower.

* * *

Elladan was in the middle of fondling and kissing the beautiful maiden that served him his tea when young Ereg ran into the fire hall.

Quickly slipping his hands out of the elleth's dress and pushing her off his lap, the eldest son of Elrond stood and hailed the distressed-looking human.

"Ereg! What is the matter, it is too early for you to be running from your shadow," Elladan joked loudly. "What is the news that you come running in here from your post with?"

Ereg, a tall, dark haired and grey eyed youth, bowed his head hastily, "Lord Elladan, a sentry came running from the western woods. He says that orcs are heading this way with wolves in tow, captain Manveru is still out in the woods at the clearing where he killed two scouts. He said he was ordered to come and rouse a hunting party."

Elladan nodded and looked over to where his brother was sitting, so entranced by the papers in front of him that he had naught heard a word of the young man's report.

"'Ro, wake up!"

The younger elf looked up, a faintly surprised wideness to his glassy eyes.

"Huh?"

Ereg repeated for the second son of Elrond his message.

"Oh, yes. Call up the troops...ah, I hear that someone has already started the signal bell. Well, go get suited up, folks," Elrohir clapped his hands and the group of elves and men that had gathered in the hall dispersed.

Elladan was beside himself with excitement, "yes! Finally some action!"

Elrohir chortled, "what do you mean, gwanur-nin? It seems that you get the most action of all people around here."

"What!?!? 'Ro," Elladan looked at his brother with mock confusion, "I don't know what you mean! Should I fetch you a surgeon or should we just pack you up in a box and send you to grandmother in Lorien?"

Elladan recieved only a spirited grin as his younger brother, quick as a bunny, drew his gleaming elven sword, spun in it a wide circle and tossed in behind him, catching it in his opposite hand above his head and pointed it at his brother.

"Shall we," Elrohir asked, tucking the unsheathed blade under his arm and offering his hand.

Elladan grinned and took it, "we shall."

* * *

Manveru? Y ha le mi i lant? - Manveru? Is it you in the clearing? 

Alag! Un glamhoth teli! - Quick! An orchost comes!

man? - what?

Hint: 'Ereg' means thorn... can anyone guess who 'Ereg' is?


	3. Chapter Two: Glorfindel

**Chapter 2: Glorfindel  
**

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Same as before, I don't own Glorfindel, Elladan, or Elrohir, and why would I want to own such a bunch of head cases? 

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Glorfindel moaned and tried to block out both the sound of the alarm bell and the pain of his headache with his pillow.

'Ohh, I shouldn't have drunk so much wine last night. I'm never going to drink again,' the poor, hung-over elf lord thought to himself, 'those perehedil brats are going to get it for making me drink so much... now what are they doing? The second day I'm here and they've already found some way to torment me... little freak show brats.'

An insanely loud voice laughed next to his head, making him cringe in pain, "Lord Glorfindel, did you know that you talk in your sleep? You keep muttering something about drinking too much and killing lord's Elladan and Elrohir."

Glofindel's heart stopped and his breath left him in a gasp.

He cautiously moved the pillow away from his eyes and, after recovering from the blinding light, saw the infuriating young human, Ereg, standing over his cot grinning impishly.

"Ereg, have you nothing better to do than torment an old elf? Be gone with you, child," Glorfindel smiled and rolled over.

He wasn't that lucky, for the human had brought the elf's bane with him: a bucket of ice cold water.

"ARRRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Arathorn, I am going to KILL you, son of Arador or no, you are a dead man!"

Ereg, now revealed as Arathorn, giggled and bounced out of the room.

Though the man was 54, an ancient in the years of lesser men, he was still considered the equivalent of a teenager in the eyes of Numenorean's, and a mere child in the eyes of the Elves, and he re-enforced that view by acting like a child as oft as possible for a ranger and heir of the Dunedain.

Glorfindel dragged his sorry, aching, wet carcass out of his sopping cot and stretched catlike. The child had woken him up, but what for? He didn't need to be awake yet for at least two more hours... ah yes, the alarm bell. What now, he wondered, did the twins get themselves into?

It didn't take long for the golden lord of Gondolin to find that out – the outpost was nearly deserted except for the skeleton crew of guardsmen and elves posted on the stone walls.

Glorfindel sighed, these little out posts were made of the same type of rock and in the same design as Imladris, which eerily reminded him far too much of fallen Gondolin.

Glorfindel sighed, the differences were in that Imladris was built low and sprawled across the hillsides of the Misty mountain chain while Gondolin was tall, lofty, and spiraled up towards the heavens.

Looking up, the beautiful elf could almost see the tall pillars rising so high that clouds clustered around the peaks and hid the bright banners that flew from the steeples.

It was almost amusing how so many people, even learned elves, believed that he was the same person as the Glorfindel who had vanquished a balrog in the fall of the hidden realm. Of course, they had all been taught that Glorfindel Valaruconacil had died in Gondolin when the ledge he had stood on gave out under him and the falling elf-bane had caught one of his golden braids and pulled him into the fires as well, yet they seemed to think that he had been sent back to live once more on Arda.

Glorfindel found that highly amusing – Valaruconacil had been his uncle, and indeed he did strongly resemble his fallen kinsman, but he certainly wasn't his legendary uncle.

Less amusing to the elf lord was when he was compared to his uncle, or when one of those ignorant folk said 'how on Arda did _you_ defeat a balrog?!?!'

It hurt, and the only way he knew to fix that was with a stiff drink and a pretty elleth under him, but as there were few maidens in Imladris who weren't either to modest to be his mistress or already be-spelled by the young Elladan, he had only hard liquor to mend his hurts and send him into an unfeeling stupor.

Sadly, Elrond wasn't here to provide the hurting Glorfindel with his wonderful medicine that makes self-inflicted headaches disappear.

Now Glorfindel stumbled on his way towards the fire hall, a smaller version of the Hall of Fire in Imladris, where he was told he might find one of the twins.

As he slugged his way into the warm room, passing by the ornately carved and well polished doors, he saw no indication that either perehedil still remained in the building.

Which suited him just fine, there would be time for him to sleep a little longer before he had to brief the two on the latest happenings in their fathers' realm and the lands surrounding.

Taking a seat on an extremely comfy armchair and resting his booted feet on a polished table in front of him, Glorfindel let himself drift off into a dream.

* * *

_A young elleth was standing infront of him, smiling at him as the wind gently played with her long, wavy red hair. Her long dress, an amazingly pale green with purple snowflakes embroidered in random spatters, drifted and billowed in the breeze._

_She sang a song lightly, but he couldn't hear her words. She stretched a fine hand out to him and he reached vainly to catch it in his._

_A look of terror crossed her face when he tried to reach out to her and he looked down at his hand... it was a talon! He quickly blinked and looked again, holding out his other hand to compare, and watched in horror as two clawed hands stretched out before him and began to turn red and smolder. Glofindel cried out in pain as the claws exploded in flame and the fire raced up his arms and covered his entire body._

_He cried out in pain and terror, only to discover that his cries were horrible growls, snarls, and sounds he had only heard once before – the crackling flames and bubbly breathing of the Balrogs that had destroyed his home, killed his family, and brought ruin to the most beautiful and last of the hidden elf realms._

_Through his pain Glorfindel could see the maiden, she was terrified, and he turned to comfort her but came face to face with someone that he had once loved fiercely but held in terror too... his uncle. Glorfindel tried to tell his uncle it was him that it was his nephew, but only snarls and flame came out his mouth._

_His uncle, with eyes as fiery as Glorfindel's body, raised a great sword and attacked. Glorfindel tried to stop him, tried not to hurt him, but after the great elf lord had scored many vicious blows, something snapped in his mind and he no longer held back, fiercely attacking his own uncle and driving him further and further out onto the ledge._

_It was just as he raised his sword to bring it down on his uncle's head; Glorfindel Valaruconacil brought up a hidden dagger and thrust it into Glorfindel's throat._

_Glorfindel gasped and reached for his neck, he trash about trying desperately to remove the blade, but only felt himself loose his footing and totter off the edge._

_As he fell he reached up to his uncle thinking that maybe he could keep his doomed uncle from falling, but only broke the ledge the elder Glorfindel stood on and they fell down, down towards the burning city...

* * *

_

"Milord? Milord Glorfindel, are you alright?"

The question broke him the sweating elf out of his dream.

He looked around with wild eyes, and saw a worried young elleth kneeling next to his chair with wide eyes.

He stilled himself and took an analysis of his surroundings.

He was still in the fire hall on the comfy chair next to the fireplace, but his hands were wrapped around his throat like he was choking.

He tried to brush his wrinkled robes straight and look dignified while righting the footstool he had knocked over in his thrashings.

The young maiden still kneeled next to him, concern written across her pretty face and welled up in her deep blue eyes.

Glorfindel smiled calmingly at the girl... he needed a drink and here was a pretty maiden, coincidence? Perish forbid!

Elladan and Elrohir returned combat with few injuries and no losses of life on the non-orc side of the battle. It had been a mere band of forty or so, and most were already slain by the arrows of Manveru by the time they got there.

They looked around for Glorfindel but he was neither in the fire hall nor his rooms... but one of the guardsmen reported that he had seen the golden haired lord and a maid sneaking off to the servants' barracks.

They decided to let him have the rest of the day off and held a celebration in the fire hall which included lots of alcohol and several elleths and women servants joining the soldiers and guardsmen in their bedrooms or sneakily in the guard towers.

* * *

Hmm.. are there any elf lords around here that aren't compelete head cases? Lets hope not, they're just so much more fun this way! 


	4. Chapter Three: Mischief

**Chapter 3: Mischief**

****

* * *

This still doesn't belong all to me... just read the one before, darn you!

* * *

The day after their celebration was cancelled, so most of the residents of the outpost were sleeping off their headaches, but as Glorfindel hadn't joined in on the festivities, he got down to business, dragging the twins and their captains out of their beds and began the long process of telling of the happenings in the world out of their reach in the last year. 

It took most of the day before he was finished and spent of things to tell the highly bored and hung-over elves. Among the immortals were three of the second born; Arador, chieftain of the Dúnedain, and his two young sons Arathorn and Arandale.

Arador was, like most of the elves, not in his best frame of mind, but due to the strict rules of their concerning drink, both young men were as bright and aware as Glorfindel, but that didn't mean they weren't bored as udun by the golden lord's monotonous talk.

After the briefing came to a conclusion, the young men decided against waking their father and felt the need to wreak some havoc upon the aching out post.

"Well, Ereg, what should we do today?"

Arathorn put a mocking thoughtful look on his face and scratched his stubbly chin, "I dono, Nallë. But that bell did seem to annoy Glorfindel... perhaps we should avenge him?"

It wasn't a few days before it was discovered that the silver alarm bell had been taken down and found a new home in the chicken coop, much to the annoyance of both the guards that had to fetch it and the hen that had made a lovely nest inside of it.

* * *

I know, I know, a little short, but I gotta get going or my room-mates are going to give me the 3rd degree about staying late at school and not telling them - luckily it's not my night to make dinner.

* * *

Ereg, as you know, means thorn, and Nallë means dale. yeppers! 


	5. Chapter Four: Love Stories

Chapter Four: Love Stories

* * *

_The story picks back up again a year later._

In the past year there was an increase of orcs in the area and the few small villages near the outpost were abandoned, the inhabitants fleeing to larger communities, or taking up their lives in the fort; flourishing inside the thick, grey stone walls and under the watchful protection of the elves and rangers who manned it.

In only a single year, the sons of Arador had matured greatly. It was now a rare thing to hear their laughter floating through the fort, or the bellows of some poor sod that discovered one of their pranks.

Seeing the horrors and atrocities wreaked upon their people by the orc hordes and the loss of friends and companions in battle had hardened them, and many mourned the loss of their youthful and carefree spirits.

But something new was budding in the elf built fortress – while many families fled to the protection of the fort, most of who were but simple farmers and goat herders from the mountain slopes, the daughter of one farmer had caught the eye of the elder son of Arador.

Gilraien, a young woman full of beauty and intelligence, kindled a spark in Arathorn's heart. When she sang in the fire hall all were delighted, and Glorfindel was oft to wonder at the strength of the Numenorean line in her blood.

Elladan was also intrigued by this elegant woman and quite often dreamt of leading her to his bed and performing acts of which would make any pious woman blush crimson.

And even though she was a human and therefore impossible for him to want, the elf lord often made seedy comments about her, and flirted maliciously.

Unfortunately for Elladan, though, she paid him no heed, for her own eyes were fixed upon the tall, dark haired and good looking Arathorn.

All this, of course, was much to her parents' dismay.

When they first learned of their daughters' great love for the son of the chieftain and his love for her, Gilraien's father forbid her from leaving their house and sent a warning to Arador to keep his son away from his daughter.

Arador, himself, found this to be quite amusing and ignored the messages from the simple farmer, and encouraged his son to fight for the hand of his lady love.

The story takes back up in the fire hall, where Arathorn looks for guidance from the sons of Elrond.

"So... you say I must lie with her and then her father will have no objections to our marriage? But doesn't that sound... wrong?"

Elladan laughed at the young man's trepidation, "of course it is, Ereg, but you only asked me how I would go about it, not how _you_ should. I haven't an idea as to how you should woo not only this little piece of ass but her father too. How about you ask the resident know-it-all and heart-broken lover?"

Arathorn cocked his head to the side, "who's that?"

"My little brother, of course! He's been mopping around ever since that elleth he had a hankering for left for the grey lands."

Arathorn nearly chocked on the tart he had been in the process of chewing.

"Elrohir? He had a lover? I thought he was too.... you know.... spacey, to find a girl."

Upon hearing his name the younger twin looked up, "What?"

Elladan grinned, "I was just telling Ereg here about that little elleth you were touching yourself over. Now there was a piece of ass if I've ever seen one – long curly hair the colour of honey, long arms and a generously full bosom... ah, yes! She had just the greatest round ass and the most squeezable tits."

With a roar of rage Elrohir tossed his book aside and launched himself at his brother.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up, you bastard!"

Elladan laughed and pushed his furious twin away and knocked his feet out from under him.

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bundle, there! Just calm down, pick yourself up and tell the lad here how you wooed your lady into her good graces."

With that, Elladan scampered off... catching the eye of one of the chamber maids that he discovered to do amazing deeds while on her knees in front of him.

The two disappeared into the maze of tunnels and passages in the main building of the fort, most likely off to one of the storage rooms in the unused parts of the complex where they wouldn't be heard or interrupted.

Elrohir did pick himself up and, after brushing off the dust from his tunic and straitening his long hair, sat down beside Arathorn with a distant look on his face.

"So, Ereg, are the rumours that I hear true? You have fallen for the lovely Gilraien, whom my brother has on countless occasions attempted to corrupt, and her father banned your relationship from blooming?"

Arathorn was amazed at Elrohir's knowledge.

"How'd you know? You're always..."

"Off in space? Dreaming? Candles burning but no-ones home?"

Arathorn's eyes widened, "well... yeah. You always are in such a deep state of... concentration that I didn't think you've ever hear a word we say when we talk around you."

"Oh, Eru, no! I listen to every word of all your conversations," Elrohir snickered, "I merely keep them to myself and allow you to assume what you will."

Arathorn was feeling more than a little awkward now, "then you've heard everything I've said in you hearing range? Even when I was whispering?"

An elegant eyebrow raised itself high on the elf's brow and the words 'I'm an elf, kapiche,' only made the generally silent elf that more imposing and threatening a character.

"Fate is with you, Ereg. I shall not tell what I've heard, but I do suggest that you think twice about the little prank you and Nalle are planning for tomorrow night's feast."

Arathorn laughed nervously.

"But seriously now, you want my advice on your problems with your aching heart? Tell her father how you feel about the lass, and be persistent. Don't let her go away or disappear from you heart."

More advice Elrohir gave to Arathorn, and once he was finished imparting his knowledge upon the human, he retired back to his books.

Arathorn, energized by the council granted to him, ran strait to the house where Gilraien's family dwelt and begged an audience of her father.

The man was moved by Arathorn's passion and discussed the matter with his wife, for he was broken over the matter. He could see that Arathorn would love and be a great match for his daughter, but they were both young and foresight told him that he would not live long. His wife, who also possessed the foresight of their Numenorean ancestors, saw that indeed Arathorn's days were numbered, but also saw the great need for the matching to be made soon that the line of Isildur would not be broken.

In the days that followed, there were many meeting between Arador and the farmer, and one week after it was announced that Arathorn and Gilraien would be wed in the next year.

Elladan declared a celebratory banquet and the fire hall reverberated with the sounds of song and many feet, both elf and human, dancing.

In the next year, not long after his 56th birthday, Arathorn and Gilraien were married.

* * *

Well... I know where the story is going and what I have to do to get it there, but I just don't know how to fill the space inbetween.  
If anyone has any ideas, plot/story lines you want to see or any psychological problems to be demonstrated, let me know. 


End file.
